Nothing Exists But This Moment
by museme87
Summary: James and Lily work well together in many different situations.  Lily/James


Nothing exists but this moment and all that it captures—the smell of his burnt flesh, the way the rain falls in a sheet upon them, the coarseness of the brick through his thin shirt, and Lily. Lily always exists in his every moment whether she is with him or not. It's a certain type of madness he's succumbed to—his love for her—and he revels in it. Always Lily. _Always_.

James thinks he sees a flash of red hair through his spectacles, but he can't be sure because the rain has made them nearly useless. There _is_ the blue light of a hex though, and he turns the corner in an instant to send a spell towards their attackers. This gives Lily the opening she must have been waiting for because the redness is growing closer to him.

He smells her floral perfume before she is close enough for him to make out all the delicate features of her face. Another spell is sent around the corner, and a shriek reaches his ears. _Bellatrix Lestrange_. He would have to tell Sirius of his small accomplishment.

Having bought them a spare bit of time, James turns to Lily, who is panting at his side. She is close enough now that he can see the blood staining her ivory skin. Lily is in rough shape, as is he—he can feel the stitch in his side with his every breath, the aches in his thighs and arm. Neither can last much longer, and so their only hope is that the Lestranges are in worse condition.

He looks at her, and she is looking back at him—a sort of silent conversation transpiring between them. Yes, it's their only chance. They will run for it. With Lily's nod, James throws himself around the corner and into plain sight. Lily is next to him in an instant. Spells fly.

Though he can't see her clearly, he knows that she is dueling with a simple grace—a dancer's grace. She has been dancing ballet since she was four, and it shows in her every move—the straightness of her back, the placement of her feet, even the way she holds her arms. And her wand—made of willow—seems to embody everything that she is as a dancer.

Another burst of light comes towards him, and James swishes his wand to disburse it. He is grateful for his wand—he abhors using Lily's as he finds it impossibly erratic in its flexibility—and thinks that it matches his own dueling style to perfection—straight forward, quick, and pliable.

James hears Lily's whimper before he catches sight of the spell that has hit her. It knocks her slightly off balance, and he jumps in front of her until she can join in again. His blood boils whenever Lily has been injured, making the spells flow smoothly off his tongue. He knows he has hit Rodolphus when he hears a low growl and Bellatrix's mad hiss.

From behind him, Lily throws a pair of hexes, and James thinks her aim is true. The sound of twin Apparition cracks fills the air. The Lestranges are gone. He and Lily are safe. He and Lily are _alive_.

Before James can truly process that feeling of relief, Lily's hand is on his arm, and he feels a tugging at his navel.

They are no longer in the rain but the warmth of her flat, standing in the middle of her bedroom. Lily's hands grope at the waist of his trousers, trying to unfasten his belt and buttons. They have been doing this—post battle shagging—for months now, but it still takes him by surprise. James doesn't pretend to understand why Lily needs this so badly straight away, why she needs to have him inside of her in those brief moments after a duel. James has, however, learned to never question it.

She is already forcing his tee over his head awkwardly before James can properly get a hold on himself. His trousers hang open at his waist, his hardening prick free from its confines. Before he knows it, she's tugging his trousers and pants down to his feet, shoving him back on the bed, and crawling on top of him.

He is about to protest the sheer number of clothes she's still wearing, but she has settled herself down on his lap, his prick in blissful contact with her wet knickers, and James forgets how to form words. Her lips are on his, their force crushing, her teeth nipping. He tries to keep up with her kisses but it's _hard_ because her hips are doing that _thing_. He loves that _thing_, loves it more than he loves pranking, which is no small amount of love.

His prick is unbearably hard now, hard enough that he thinks he's going to die if he doesn't do something with it soon. It feels like that every time, of course, but it's hard to remember that when Lily is doing that _thing_ with her hips _and_ shedding her top. James does have enough wits about him to reach up to take her breasts into his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples to bring them to peak beneath the fabric of her bra. Lily tosses her head back when he touches her, tosses her head back and gives a little moan that goes straight to his prick.

"James…I just…oh, God," she gasps, grinding against him.

This is another thing he still has yet to understand about her—why, if she wants relief, does she torment herself this way? James doesn't care because he, quite frankly, relishes the not-quite-having-her. It is also an added pleasure that she's particularly vocal at this juncture, and he can coax all sorts of filth from her mouth if he wants. But he doesn't want. Not now. No, _now_ he needs to feel how badly she wants him.

Slipping his hands beneath her skirt, he gives her arse a firm slap, eliciting a sweet whimper from her lips against his neck. James tugs her knickers down over her raised arse and is quick to delve into the heat between her legs. She is wetter than James thought she could ever be, his fingers slipping inside her with ease, and James fights the urge to toss her on her back and take her.

"_James_," she nearly cries, shuddering as he hits a sensitive bundle of nerves.

Lily is ready for him. She lifts herself so that he can easily discard her knickers, which he does, tossing them to the side of the bed. James draws in a sharp breath when she takes him into her hand, guiding him inside of her.

For moments, he only knows three words: _hot_, _tight_, _drenched_. And then the list grows to include: _fuck_, _Lily_, _yes_. When he remembers that he has hands, they find their way to the back of her bra to unclasp it, releasing her gorgeous breasts from confinement. They are mesmerizing, bouncing as she rides him and he thrusts up to meet her.

He takes them into his palms again, delighting in their softness and smoothness. His fingers pinch at her nipples, throwing off her rhythm each time he does. Lily arches her back, her stomach muscles pulled tight and her breasts are tantalizing. She pauses in her stride, burying him in her as far as he will go.

James feels that familiar tingling sensation at the base of his spine, the heaviness forming in his balls. He slips his hands to her waist and tugs on her hips, urging her on. Lily quickens her pace and readjusts so that with every upwards slide her breasts hang dangerously close to his face. She brings her hand to the base of his neck and cradles it, pressing a nipple to his lips and whimpering. Obligingly, he tries to fulfill her every desire, biting down gently on the nub and flicking his tongue over it in rapid succession.

"James."

It's a need-filled moan. She likes this—he knows, as she always enjoys it—and _needs_ this to push her over the edge. Lily is slipping down on him, and this time he feels her fingers gliding between her folds, toying with herself while she rides him. He'd love nothing more than to do the touching for her, but he's rather preoccupied at her breasts—lapping and pinching and flicking his tongue. And when Lily's close to coming, she knows _exactly_ what she wants. Changing even the slightest positioning now would send her into a fury.

So James continues on, listening to her pants and sighs and whimpers and letting them burn into him. He is close now, the sensations all gathering at one collected point. Lily is closer than he is though, her thrusts frantic and fingers touching with purpose. And there it is—her mouth falling open, short-quick breaths, a moan collecting in her throat, and then her spasms around him.

"James, I'm…oh, God, love…oh, God."

And he knows what she is thinking because she has pushed him to that precipice. This is his favorite part—the teetering between unbearable sensation and sweet relief. And he loves it. He doesn't want to let go. Not yet. Too good. And then, yes. Fucking _yes_. And nothing exists but this moment and all that it captures—the spiral downwards, his over-warm flesh, spilling himself within her, and Lily. Always Lily. _Always_.


End file.
